


Flower Chain

by GilliganGoodfellow



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Drowners - Ruining Shit since Conjunction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Non-Sexual Age Play, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, vulnerable Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: A drowner attacks Jaskier while he is at his most vulnerable...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 291
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Flower Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Have some random, self indulgant fluff what I did wrote. <3

They have been on the road for three days, and finally the rain has let up, giving them a glorious warm afternoon full of rich smells and bright colours that calm Geralt as he slowly brings Roach to a stop next to a small roadside clearing. “We’ll eat lunch here.”

“Excellent.” Jaskier taps the two rabbits currently hanging from Roach’s saddle bag like monster hunting trophies. “I’ve been looking forward to these two beauties.”

“You skin them. I’ll make the fire.”

Geralt watches the bard as he works, his expression blank. There is a tension to Jaskier, and has been for the last day. As if he’s waiting for something to happen, or wishing for something to happen. Sometimes he gives Geralt a curious glance when he thinks the Witcher is not looking. Sometimes he rubs his hands up and down his own arms in a self sooth. 

He soon has the rabbits ready for the pot, and Geralt makes them into a stew, mixing in some of the vegetables and herbs that Jaskier insisted on buying in the last town.

“Looks good.” Jaskier says.

“It will need an hour.” Geralt says, and as if that is his cue Jaskier reaches into the saddle bags, pulling out a notebook and pencil. He settles against a fallen tree branch, and starts scribbling away, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease somewhat.

It looks like Jaskier isn’t planning to do anything except compose, so Geralt sits back on his ankles and slips into meditation, listening to the fire under the stew. 

Jaskier feels warm here. Warm and safe in this little pocket of the world, with just Geralt, Roach and the fire. The stew already smells delicious, and Jaskier lowers his notebook, smiling, and then frowning and looking down as he feels himself slipping. 

Here?

Geralt is meditating, the fire is safe inside a pit. Roach is happy with some grass to chew on. 

Just for an hour. Geralt said the stew needed an hour. 

Just an hour. Geralt won’t know.

He’s already slipped, he can’t really control it once it starts. He puts the book down and slowly stands, creeping out of the camp with a childish exaggeration and crossing the road into an area where the forest thins out into a field, a small pond to one side. 

The sun is warm against his face and he opens his arms out to it, hugging the sky and giggling slightly, enjoying being alive. Being free. Being here.

It is a very nice day now that the rain has stopped, and all the flowers are open and beautiful. He picks one, carefully piercing the stem with his thumbnail and then looping another through, and then another through that to make a pretty chain to go around his lute case.

He holds the chain up, smiling. Maybe he could make one for...no. He shakes his head. Geralt won’t want one around his neck. That’s silly. But maybe Roach’s mane.

He picks another flower, and threads it into the chain. It’s nearly done now. He just needs to put it around the lute case, but he left the lute on the saddle bags. He’ll have to be really quiet when he goes back to camp, so he doesn’t disturb Geralt. Shhh. 

And behind him, he hears a snarl. 

But it can’t be Geralt, he’s doing that boring old meditation thing. And they are in the middle of nowhere. So who is making that noise?

Jaskier checks his silver dagger in its scabbard, because Geralt tells him to do that when he thinks there might be something bad nearby. 

“Hello?”

The dropped flower chain forms a pile at his feet as he slowly steps towards the shuffling sound inside the hedgerow. 

And then he screams. 

The drowner is super fast, and its sharp teeth are covered in bits of skin and dirt. The smell makes him feel sick. Jaskier grabs his dagger and quickly slices at the monster’s throat, and blood covers his face. 

No, no, no. Bad. Bad. Dirty. Don’t swallow.

He spits, gags, scurries backwards, turns to stand and run but the drowner grabs his ankle. Slam. It’s on his back. No! Jaskier has dropped the dagger. He reaches for it. Grabs it. Moves his arm up blindly. The creature screams, the dagger is gone, and Jaskier is able to crawl out from under the drowner. Turn. Face it. It runs at him and then someone else is there and the drowner's ugly head is rolling along the ground and Jaskier is sobbing. 

He cries because it is scary and it hurts and he has dirty blood on his face and he wants to cry and cry and he wants to be held and Geralt will be so angry with him and the world is _horrible_.

A hand wraps tightly around the back of his head and Geralt glares at him. “Are you hurt?” He’s doing that thing where he grits his teeth. 

Jaskier shakes his head, and hides his face behind his hands. 

No no no no no…

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice tapers of, his eyes widening as realisation dawns. “Jaskier, what were you doing before the drowner attacked?”

“Playing.” He says, voice pitiful as he points at the now broken flower chain, and Geralt hmms. 

The witcher touches him again, but softer this time, hands cupping each of his ears and a forehead against the bard’s crown. And Jaskier cries and cries into his own hands, because the chain is broken, and he feels Geralt kiss his hair.

“It’s safe now.” He whispers. “It’s safe, Little Bard. The monsters can’t hurt you anymore.”

The touch is gone, and then replaced by a thick heavy cloak, the hood pulled up and forward so that it covers Jaskier’s face. It’s wrapped around him, damp from the rain but also warm from Geralt’s body heat, and so heavy. So...solid. Jaskier calms slightly, lowering one of his hands to brush against the inside of the cloak.

Geralt maneuvers him sideways, one hand around Jaskier’s back and the other under his legs as he lifts him, slowly carrying him towards the pond.

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier says again. 

“Shhhh.” Geralt hushes him. “You’re not in trouble, Jaskier.”

He sits Jaskier down on the bank by the pond, reaching into his pocket for a cloth and then putting his hand in the water, using igni to warm it.

“Keep still.” Geralt says, his tone the one he uses when speaking to Roach as he lowers the hood of the cloak and gently passes the warm cloth over Jaskier’s face and neck, wiping off the blood and rot. He washes the cloth, rings it out, and then cleans Jaskier’s cheeks, under his eyes, and then on and under his nose. 

The cloth discarded on the edge of the pond, the witcher gently tilts Jaskier’s head up so that he is looking Geralt in the eye. 

“Don’t wander off alone. It isn’t safe. There will be punishment if you do it again.”

Jaskier nods. 

“Do you want to walk back to camp, or be carried?”

Jaskier curls up, and Geralt takes that as his answer, pulling the hood back up and lifting the crying bard into his arms.

“It’s alright.” He whispers. “I’ll keep you safe.”

Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s neck, and sighs.

* * *

Jaskier feels wrecked, miserable, and mostly ashamed as he quietly eats the bowl of rabbit stew, chewing each spoonful in an attempt to make the meal, and the silence surrounding it, as long as possible. 

Geralt is watching him, his own bowl long finished. 

Finally he turns to face Jaskier, voice quiet as he speaks. 

“You need to stay in the camp when you are like that.”

“Like _that_?”

Geralt nods. “You can get me to go with you, if you must wander.”

Jaskier looks away. “So you know?”

“I didn’t.” Geralt shakes his head. “But I’ve seen it before. Recognised it in you.”

“And you...you’re...you don’t mind it?”

“Does it help you?”

“It makes me happy.” Jaskier shrugs. “I always feel calm afterwards...if I haven’t been attacked by drowners.”

Geralt smiles. 

“I can’t explain why. It just...I need it sometimes.”

“Then I don’t mind.”

A pause. 

“Any other secrets I should know about?”

“No.” Jaskier shakes his head. “That’s kind of the big one.”

Geralt nods. “What do you like to do, when you’re like that?”

“Depends…” Jaskier shrugs. “You...you said you’ve seen it before?”

“In a friend.” Geralt says. “Sometimes he just needs to be held. Looked after. Or to play games.” Geralt smiles, a rare fond grin as he reminisces. “It gives him a few hours away from his anger and pain. And it gives me and Eskel a chance to…” Geralt hmms, and shakes his head angrily at himself. He should have left names out of it. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” Jaskier whispers. 

Geralt nods. “It gives me and Eskel a chance to remind him that even if he doesn’t believe it himself, he deserves to be taken care of. To be loved.”

Jaskier gives Geralt a small smile. “I like that.”

“Do you like playing games?”

Jaskier smiles...and then yawns. 

“Sleep first.” Geralt chuckles. “Do you want me to hold you?”

It’s day time, but Jaskier doesn't mind napping now because Geralt is lifting him into his lap, chest against chest with Jaskier’s head on his shoulder. Geralt’s arm wraps around his back over the thick cloak, the other hand on the back of the hood, and it feels nice. And safe.

“Hmm.” Geralt smiles.

Jaskier closes his eyes, and he is soon completely relaxed against Geralt, sighing as he slips into a peaceful sleep while thinking about the games they will be playing later.

* * *

The tension is completely gone from Jaskier’s shoulders as he walks ahead of Roach, working a composition out on his lute and singing quietly to himself. 

Riding behind him, Geralt smiles, and looks up at the sky. 

Another warm day. Rich smells and bright colours, Jaskier’s happiness. 

And flowers laced through Roach’s mane.


End file.
